


Sidecar

by ladyphlogiston



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Companionable Snark, F/M, Las Vegas, Ron is kind of an idiot, Street & Stage Magic, cocktails
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 20:45:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14922548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyphlogiston/pseuds/ladyphlogiston
Summary: Texted prompt from my brother: Draco becomes a stage magician in Vegas and runs into Hermione while she is touring the States for some reason.





	Sidecar

"Cool trick, man. You in show business?"

"Wha....?"

Draco was drunk. He'd worked hard to become so. He wasn't welcome in the wizarding world, not really. Most places would take his money, but between the stares and the whispers and the weird reactions from former acquaintances....well, he didn't drink in wizarding bars. He'd tried drinking at home, but listening to the skittering noises of his house elf worrying about him was just as bad.

So he'd started drinking in muggle bars. Their beer was all wrong but their whiskey wasn't bad, and it turned out they had innumerable mixed drinks that were frequently quite tasty. He'd gotten some strange looks the first time he'd ordered an appletini, so he'd had to legilimize an attractive bartender to learn about the perceptions and fashions around drinks, and now it was quite enjoyable to select the drink that would perfectly complement the image he had chosen for the night.

The important thing, though, was that sooner or later, they all got him drunk. And here he was, in an upscale bar in the middle of North America (the local muggle bars had gotten boring, eventually, or too full of people he'd offended or obliviated or slept with, so he'd bought a thick guidebook and started choosing at random), thoroughly drunk on gin martinis (Nolet's Silver martini, dry), and out of money. So he'd conjured a few of the funny greenish papers American muggles used; it's not like their money was real to begin with.

"That was a nice sleight of hand. Are you in the business?" the middle-aged man repeated.

Draco blinked at him, trying to get the words to stop swimming about. "I've...considered it," he said, cautiously.

The man stood and looked him up and down. "You've got the looks for it, and that accent would go over well. I could use a new stage magician at my casino."

Draco blinked at him some more. He tried rubbing his face, but it didn't seem to help.

"Tell you what," the man said, pulling out his wallet, "you go home and sleep it off, and if you're interested, come see me tomorrow."

* * *

 

Winky woke Draco at eleven the next morning with toast and eggs and a hangover potion to go with his morning tea. "There is being a card in Master Draco's pocket," she commented, pointing to the business card resting on the tray.

Draco squinted at the card, trying to remember what had happened. He'd conjured money, and the muggle in the suit had thought he was some sort of muggle magician? _Were_  there muggle magicians?

He didn't know. Years before, he would have had no way of finding out. He didn't know anyone who knew anything about muggles - not well enough to ask for help, anyway - and the texts sold in wizarding bookstores were useless. (Dangerously so, he'd learned after he nearly got himself electrocuted in a bathroom.) But he had since worked out an infallible method for learning about muggle things without losing face.

After his breakfast, Draco got dressed and apparated to the Charing Cross Library in London. He'd been wandering around drunk one night, and had been amazed to discover that muggles have libraries. He'd remembered the location and used it ever since.

"Mr. Malfoy, haven't seen you in a while," the librarian greeted him. He'd initially been offended by their inability to recognize him, but after he'd seen what a useful resource it was, a large donation had taken care of that problem.

"I need to know about magicians today," he announced.

A few minutes later, he was comfortably ensconced in the reading room with a selection of books about stage magic and magicians. The librarian had also offered some "videos" but he still wasn't certain what those were, so he'd said he might want to consult one later.

Muggle magic, as it turned out, was rather ingenious. It would be child's play to replicate their tricks with real magic, of course, and muggles were still overly impressed with changes in color, but all in all it was rather ingenious.

And there it would have ended, if it hadn't been for a photograph in one of the books: a professional magician, dressed in a fabulous purple suit, surrounded by attentive and even adoring fans. Draco had wealth and leisure, but he had never had adoring fans.

Draco pulled out his notebook (parchment, of course, but he found that custom-bound books were less conspicuous than scrolls) and noted down the tricks mentioned in the book. He prepared to leave, but hesitated. The book had stated quite clearly that a magician's patter was an essential part of the performance, but the books had not described it properly.

He went back to the front desk. "I will consult one of your videos," he said expectantly.

* * *

 

"Great show tonight, Drake!"

"Thanks, Joe. Anything interesting?" Draco asked the stage manager, unclipping his microphone and handing it to the tech. He'd had to practice tightly controlling his casting, so it wouldn't interfere with the electronics, but it had been worth it. Oh, had it been worth it.

"Eight notes tonight, seven women and one man. Leaving out those too old, too young, too male, and too unappealing, I'd say you should pick either the blonde - about 5'7", slim, solid 9 - or the brunette - 5'2", only an eight but she's got great curves. She included the flower there."

Draco picked up the single narcissus in a bud vase and read the attached note. 

> _What's a nasty boy like you doing in a place like this?_
> 
> _Eiffel tower bar, midnight._
> 
> _Hermione Granger_

"I think I'd better take the brunette. Thanks, Joe."

* * *

 

Draco tweaked the sleeves of his button-down shirt. He liked wearing the latest wizarding fashions on stage, and he'd invested in some high-end muggle clothes for meeting his admirers. It turned out muggle designers actually made quite flattering clothes, once you got used to the dull colors.

He glanced past Granger three times before he recognized her. He'd been looking for the frizzy hair and sensible clothes he remembered, and was unprepared for a pile of glossy curls pouring down a naked back to meet the rich wine color of a shimmery dress. Joe was right; she had great curves.

"Granger," he said, seating himself across from her.

"Malfoy," she replied, narrowing her eyes at him.

Draco motioned to the waiter and ordered a negroni. "Are we eating?" he asked. "I've heard the duck confit is excellent here."

Granger seemed at a loss. "I hadn't thought about it. I suppose you must be hungry," she began, but he waved her off.

"I can eat later. I know it's past your bedtime."

"It isn't... That's not the point. Stop changing the subject, Malfoy!" Granger sputtered. Apparently it was as easy as ever to get a rise out of her.

"I don't believe you'd introduced a subject," Draco pointed out.

Hermione closed her eyes and seemed to count to ten under her breath. She opened her eyes. "The subject, Malfoy, is how a low-life like you is using magic on muggles on a daily basis and getting away with it!"

"I'm not using magic on muggles. I'm using magic in front of them, I admit, but as my cover story is excellent I don't see how it's any of your business."

"I bet you're using magic on the women who leave notes for you! I was certainly not the only one, I noticed."

"Nothing but a contraceptive charm, I assure you, and that is for their own benefit. Using contraceptive charms on muggles is legal, you know."

"That law is meant to be about spouses and you know it!"

"And who are you to doubt the depth of my commitment to my lovely partners?" Draco drawled.

Granger rolled her eyes. She seemed about to start up again but subsided when the waiter returned with Draco's negroni.

Draco sipped it appreciatively. "Are you enjoying your drink, Granger? It doesn't look like you've drunk much of it."

Granger glanced down. "I don't actually know very much about drinks. I ordered a gin and tonic because my dad used to drink them."

"A well-made gin and tonic can be delicious, but there's no reason for you to drink something you don't like. Perhaps I can be of assistance? What sort of flavors do you like?"

Granger looked taken aback. "What would you know about muggle drinks, Malfoy?"

Draco smirked. "Quite a bit, actually. I am actually capable of absorbing new information, you know. Something sweeter, perhaps?"

Hermione thought for a moment. "Not too sweet. Maybe lemony? I'm not sure, to be honest."

"Let's order you a sidecar, then, and you can tell me about all the immoral things I'm doing."

Despite Draco's invitation, they waited in silence until the sidecar came. Hermione tasted it thoughtfully, but didn't comment on it.

"What _are_  you doing here, Malfoy?" she asked eventually.

"Why do you want to know?"

Hermione fidgeted with the corner of her napkin. "It has been pointed out to me that I frequently assume the worst of people," she said carefully.

"Pointed out by who?" Draco asked.

Hermione blushed a little. "Ron."

Draco smirked. "Well, if you're assuming things about Weasley, you're probably right."

Hermione smiled and started to nod, but stopped herself almost immediately. "Be that as it may, I may have assumed more than was warranted. I am attempting to fix my mistake. Why are you here?"

Draco leaned back and drained the last of his negroni. He waved at the waiter to order another round for them both. "I fell into it, I suppose. It's more entertaining than getting drunk every night. And the sex is better."

"But why in the muggle world?"

"I'm not really welcome in the Wizarding one, in case you hadn't noticed," Draco drawled. Typical Granger. She never had any tact.

"I suppose that's true."

The waiter appeared with their fresh drinks and took away their empty glasses.

Draco leaned forward. "And you, Granger? What are you doing here?"

Granger took another sip. "I'm here with Ron."

Draco made a show of looking around. "I see he has finally added invisibility to his many accomplishments."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean. Prat."

Draco smirked.

"Ron and I dated for a while after...well, you know. We dated for a while, and then we broke up. And then he wanted to get back together, and now somehow we're taking this trip together to prove that I'm not a stick in the mud and he's not an uncultured oaf."

"Seems a futile endeavor, since he is most certainly an uncultured oaf."

Hermione leaned forward in her seat. "He is! We went to the Louvre and all he would talk about was which paintings had ladies with the biggest breasts!"

Draco threw his head back and laughed.

"And we visited the Grand Canyon and he went on and on about installing Quidditch hoops! And he never notices who is nearby - I had to use muffliato eventually, so I wouldn't have to obliviate a dozen muggles, and _then_ he said I was an interfering busybody and who was I to cast magic on him!"

Draco grinned, watching her get worked up enough to vent her frustration.

"And I was fascinated by the discussion of how the indigenous mages used the rock strata for ritual casting, but we had to leave because he was hungry and hadn't bothered to pack any food! And he's always dragging his feet, and he never listens, and he expects me to do all the planning and packing, and he still chews with his mouth open, and the sex isn't even that good anyway!" she finished. She swallowed the rest of her sidecar.

"As I said, a futile endeavor," Draco commented.

Granger nodded. "So it isn't working. We came here because I thought Ron would enjoy it - which he did - and this evening he was flirting with some blonde and I haven't seen him since, so I guess it's properly over now."

Draco considered several snarky comments about Weasleys and women and uncultured oafs in general, but stayed quiet. Granger was being unusually confiding - probably due in part to the two sidecars - and he was curious about what she'd say next.

"The thing is, I think perhaps I am a stick in the mud. We came here, and Ron was having so much fun playing blackjack, spending money, talking with everyone, and I...I was just bored! I don't see the point in gambling. Ron kept telling me to relax and enjoy it but I just couldn't. Maybe I don't know how to have fun."

"Don't be ridiculous, Granger," Draco snapped.

Granger looked up at him, startled.

Draco pointed to her drink. "You ordered a gin and tonic because your father liked them. You didn't like it. What did I say about that?"

"Oh! That there's no point in drinking something I don't enjoy," Hermione replied. She looked like she understood his point, but Draco spelled it out anyway.

"You didn't like your father's favorite drink, but that doesn't mean you don't like any drinks. You just like sidecars better."

"That's true. That's completely true. And I did have fun at the Grand Canyon! I just...don't like gambling."

"It does probably mean your relationship with Weasley is over, but you shouldn't have been dating an uncultured oaf in the first place."

"True."

They were quiet for a moment, while Draco finished his negroni.

"What I don't get, Granger," said Draco, thunking his empty glass onto the table, "is how you ever got suckered into this trip in the first place. We all made stupid decisions after...well, you know...but you're the golden girl! Once you got well away from Weasley you must have had dozens of better offers."

Hermione shrugged, and continued to methodically shred her cocktail napkin. "A few, I suppose, but...well, I may be a war hero, but I'm still the pushy muggleborn. I wasn't on the wrong side of the war, and my friends don't think I betrayed them, but I'm not as welcome as you'd think, either."

Draco nodded slowly. "Well, welcome to the outcasts. We have cocktails," he drawled.

Granger smiled. "It's late. Cracks about my bedtime notwithstanding, I do need to sleep."

Draco stood and dropped a couple of bills on the table. He paused, then pulled out a business card. "Do you have a phone? I do get owls, of course, but I'm not always by a Floo during the day."

"I do. Maybe I'll call you if I need more drink recommendations." Granger tucked the card away and stood smiling at him.

Draco fidgeted briefly. "Goodnight then."

"Goodnight."

Draco watched her walk across the lobby floor to the stairs, her heels clicking on the polished marble and the light playing across the swing of her hips. He shook his head and headed out the front door to find a safe place to disapparate.

* * *

 

Draco had almost arrived at his usual apparation point when his phone rang. "Hello?"

"Malfoy? It's Hermione. I'm afraid I'm a little bit stuck."

"What's wrong?"

"Ron is in our room."

"Can't you...make up a second bed?" Draco asked, mindful of the muggles around him on the sidewalk, who shouldn't overhear discussions about conjuring beds.

"He's not alone. I can hear them from the hall!" Granger explained, sounding indignant.

Draco chuckled. "Fair enough. Do you have money for a taxi?"

"Yes."

"Take a taxi to 421 Ruston Road. I'll wait for you."

"Thanks, Malfoy."

Draco closed the phone and put it back in his pocket, chuckling. Of course Weasley would take his latest conquest back to their room. Couldn't even be bothered to use a silencing charm. Probably forgot a contraception charm as well. Idiot. Uncultured oaf.

* * *

 

Hermione arrived at his place in Vegas some time later, looking curiously at the low house. "Is this where you live?"

"No. This is a cheap lot in the desert with a tent on it and an illusion spell to make it look like a house. I bring girls here sometimes, but I don't live here."

Hermione looked puzzled, but followed him inside.

Draco was rather pleased with the interior. He'd gone through several home decorating magazines before buying some furniture and charming the rest to look like the perfect muggle bachelor pad. The living room was the height of masculine fashion, with a carefully curated selection of curios and muggle art to make it look more personal. The bedroom had silk sheets and a selection of luxurious robes. Draco hadn't managed to get a sound system that worked inside the tent, but in his spare time he was working on a way to play music from muggle CDs, and then he'd just have to enchant some buttons to look like a stereo system.

"You can spend the night here, if you like. The sheets are clean and so on. Or you can come back to England with me, and either sleep in my guest room or apparate home."

"You go back to England every day?" Granger asked.

Draco nodded. "There's a permanent portkey in the other room."

Granger nodded. "Of course there is. I'm fairly certain that's illegal, you know."

"Depends on how good your manager is," Draco replied.

"It does not..." Hermione's rant was interrupted by a yawn.

Draco laughed. "Sleep now, yell at me in the morning."

Hermione nodded. "I'll sleep here. Thank you for letting me."

* * *

 

Draco woke up, dressed, had tea with his parents (who were preparing for dinner and an evening at the theater) and returned to Las Vegas. Granger was still asleep in his bedroom.

He considered heading over to the casino, but found himself rather curious about Granger's reaction when she woke up. And he had work to do here. He pulled out his notes about muggle CDs and the textbook about acoustic physics he'd copied from the library, and settled down to read.

An hour later, he heard Granger stirring in the bedroom, and then the shower turned on. Draco put his notes away and headed to the kitchen.

Hermione came out, wrapped in one of his bathrobes, just as the griddle was getting hot. "Good morning," Draco greeted her, pouring out batter.

Granger didn't respond at first, but eventually she overcame her astonishment. "Malfoy," she said in disbelief, "what on _earth_ are you doing?"

Draco smirked. "Making breakfast. I hope you like pancakes. Sadly, those childish inter-house rivalries, not to mention years of ridiculously unmerited arrogance, prevented me from observing your preferences at school." He flipped the pancakes.

Granger was still gaping at him. "But...you're cooking!"

Draco laughed. "When I was setting up this place, I read in a muggle magazine that men should cook breakfast for their...paramours, shall we say? So I paid one of the assistant chefs quite a generous sum to teach me how. I must say, it's been one of my better investments. The response is usually quite gratifying."

Granger glared at him. "I assure you, my response will not be 'gratifying,' as you put it."

"Your current response is all the gratification I desire, I assure _you_ ," Draco replied, plating the pancakes and sliding the plate onto the two-person table beside the (enchanted) window.

Hermione sat and took a long sip of her tea. "That's better. I can't possibly be expected to deal with you before I've had my tea."

Draco smirked at her but didn't reply. He served himself and they ate.

As they finished up, Draco opened the bottle of champagne and used it to top up the glasses he'd prepared.

"What's that?" Hermione asked.

"I thought you might like it. It's called a bellini, and it's a type of champagne cocktail. I thought it would be appropriate."

"Appropriate for what?"

Draco smiled at her. "Appropriate for whatever you do next."

* * *

 

"Malfoy, can I borrow your dressing room?"

Draco stared at his phone in disbelief, then put it back to his ear. "You can't even get dressed on your own, Granger?"

"Of course I can get dressed, you prat. But they're still in there. With whipped cream and chocolate sauce."

"Whipped cream at this hour? How terribly gauche of Weasley."

"Yes, I know, and he always buys this special 'sexy' chocolate sauce that comes in a pink bottle and costs three times as much and tastes like chalk. I told him and told him to just go to the grocery store, but..."

"Granger. Did you get your clothes?" Draco asks, cutting off any further description of Weasley's lack of sexual prowess.

Granger sighed. "Yes, I got them, but naturally I couldn't stay and change there. Can I borrow your dressing room? I assume you have one?"

"Come down to the theater. I'll tell the stage manager to let you in."

Granger came in a few minutes later, still wearing the transfigured bathrobe she'd worn to go to her room in the hotel. Joe showed her in, winked obnoxiously at Draco, and left.

"I'll wait in the hall," Draco told her. "There's a bathroom through that door, and a comb and some makeup in the drawer of the vanity, though I don't know if women wear the same kind....oh, and don't touch those coins, they're doves," he finished, indicating a trio of golden casino chips.

"Doves?" Granger asked, bemused.

"I usually have a few on hand. They're surprisingly useful."

Hermione blinked at him.

Draco smirked at her. "I'll leave you to change," he said, and left.

* * *

 

Granger stayed to watch his sound check, looking quite fetching in tight jeans and a green tank top, with her hair pulled up in a messy ponytail. She joined him as he left the stage, and they walked out into the casino together.

"I noticed you actually use relatively little magic," she commented.

"I used more when I started, but I find it rather enjoyable to incorporate the simpler muggle techniques into my act. They're interesting skills. Also I find that stage equipment is unusually sensitive to magic, so I have to be careful."

Granger's eyes brightened as she considered the implications of this. "More than cellphones? I wonder why?"

"I've been doing some research into muggle physics to try to figure out why. It's rather fascinating...."

They walked on, discussing muggle physics and technology. The flashing lights and whirling chimes of the casino covered their voices and wrapped them in their own private bubble of conversation.

* * *

 

Granger stayed to watch his late-afternoon performance, so Draco pulled her up on stage to help with one of the tricks. (He nearly set the stage on fire by overcharging the tiny rune hidden in the "Ruby of Scintillation," but remembered in time that, unlike his usual muggle volunteers, Hermione's charging would be quite powerful by itself.) Hermione looked well on the stage; her forceful personality compensated for her short stature, and the lights couldn't wash out her dark curls and bright laughter.

After the show, Draco waved off Joe and rejoined Granger. They went to an Italian restaurant for an early dinner, and sat under a vibrant stained-glass window, lit up by the desert sun into ruby and sapphire and emerald light. They had a tasting flight of wines with their pasta, and compared their impressions of the wine in between discussing travel and magic and makeup and music.

"Granger, why are you still here?" Draco asked during a lull in conversation towards the end of the meal.

Hermione looked puzzled.  "Where else would I be?"

"I don't know. Visiting friends, taking over the world, seeing the Louvre and looking at paintings of things other than naked women..." He trailed off, gesturing expansively.

Hermione blinked at him. "I find I'm quite happy here," she said.

Draco rolled his eyes. Gryffindors.

"Why are you still here?" Granger asked.

Draco looked up. "Pardon me?"

"Why do you keep letting me bother you?"

Draco shrugged. "Because Weasley keeps leaving you stranded."

Granger leaned forward. "That's why you let me visit your dressing room this morning, yes. Why are you having dinner with me?"

Draco looked at her for a moment. "I suppose I find your company rather pleasant," he said finally.

Granger smiled brilliantly at him. "There you are then," she said triumphantly. "I find your company rather pleasant also."

"Well. I'm glad."

Granger cocked her head to one side. "Though I suppose another visit to the Louvre would be pleasant also," she suggested. "What are you doing tomorrow?"

Draco swallowed. "Seeing the Louvre, apparently. Though I should warn you that we might end up killing each other."

Granger smirked at him. "It's a risk," she agreed.

"You hate gambling," he reminded her.

"Maybe. Maybe not."


End file.
